


Two Step

by hazbinhearts



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25855435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazbinhearts/pseuds/hazbinhearts
Summary: Since when did Valentino know how to waltz?
Relationships: Alastor/Valentino (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	Two Step

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HuntingPeople](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HuntingPeople/gifts).



> for a beautiful friend, grisha! i hope you have a phenomenal birthday and that you feel special and loved by everyone you care for. <3

Yes, of course he could move the furniture with ease, but it was significantly more amusing to watch Valentino push and shove things aside to make space the ‘old fashioned way’. For all his yammering about how _stuck in the past_ Alastor was, he truly did rely on very _prehistoric_ methods, which was delightfully satisfying to point out in times like these.

“You’re going to scratch the wood.” The Radio Demon says cheerfully.

“Who fuckin’ cares.” the moth pimp growls.

“Shouldn’t you at least try to pick it up off the ground?”

“Are you seriously givin’ me shit about how I move furniture right now? Seriously? Is this the fuckin’ fight you wanna pick, _babe?_ ”

“No, no, darling. Go on. I’m nothing if not patient.”

The scrape of furniture on old wood floors was immeasurably frustrating to listen to for long periods of time, but Alastor persevered. His bravery and excellent, stalwart determination to withstand the agonizing handful of minutes his partner spent huffing and growling and shoving things around should have been awarded with a medal of some sort. Perhaps he’d hang it on the wall by a tack in his room, to remind him of all the shit he puts up with for a little entertainment.

When at last the coffee table and extraneous lounge furniture occupying the living room is shoved up against the surrounding walls, Valentino kicks the heavy area rug a few times to roll it loosely up into itself. He bends, picks it up, and then hurls it to flop on top of the couch beside the roaring fireplace. Dusting his hands off, he rolls his shoulders and turns to face Alastor at last.

“Okay, _stage set_ , sweetheart. You ready to be swept off your goddamn feet?” He grins that sharp, pointed grin, all cocksure confidence Alastor can feel trying to make the hairs on his skin prickle. It doesn’t work, of course. It never works.

“ _Sweep away_ , good man.” He lets go of his microphone staff and it folds in on itself, vanishing into thin air. Valentino looks annoyed for a moment as he slips his arms out of his coat and it effortlessly slips behind him, disappearing as abruptly as the staff had. He can tell Alastor is being patronizing, and of course, that’s the _point_.

Valentino has not managed to surprise him many times, but this would be one of them. Beneath that tacky layer of red zebra-trimmed _wings_ is an actual _suit_ . Alastor has only seen what lies beneath it a few times, but not once was it...an actual suit. With all its pieces in-tact and in...relatively cool, easy colors. Steel grey with black as a secondary and _silver_ as a compliment was not at all the moth’s specific _brand_ , so it was curious to see him depart from it, being a stickler for what “makes sense for him”, as he puts it. Curious. How did he know to wear something like this today, of all days? This interaction had not been pre-planned at all, not by _Valentino_ , at least…

Before he can let the curiosity consume him, the taller man is sliding up into his personal space and gripping him. A hand holding his, the other on Alastor’s waist, he practically leers in his direction. For a lesser Sinner, that look might have intimidated; but for the Radio Demon, it only made things...more interesting. It _amused_ him. Valentino seemed to sense that, because the leer is shoved off of his face unceremoniously in favor of an irritated gesture of his head that lets Alastor know he’s rolling his eyes despite having no pupil or iris.

“Well, we need _music,_ don’t we, music man?” 

“Manners would be nice, Valentino.”

“Yeah, they would be, huh? Maybe you should ask a ‘nice’ demon for some. Y’seem to be lacking.”

Alastor gives a sigh, acting so put-upon, but with some tuning noises and a crackle-hiss-pop of frequency distortion, a gentle note or two begins to waft through the air. It takes Valentino a moment to process it- his antennae twitching, his head tilted even slightly to the left for half a fraction of a second- but he catches the rhythm, and off they go.

“Do you know this one?”

“Do you really gotta ask?”

“You’re full of surprises, you must be used to people asking questions by now.”

“There you go playin’ me for a fool again, Alastor. I’m not walking into your traps, baby.”

Dance etiquette is difficult to recall if you haven’t taken lessons for it. Everything from posture to movement is taken into account, and if you break focus, you have no hope of recovering without making some obvious blunder and showing yourself to be a fool. It is, in Alastor’s humble opinion, an entirely discarded artform, and he’d be absolutely shocked if anyone really upheld the traditions of appropriate form and function in Hell of all places.

“Who says I am laying a _trap?_ ”

“You like to play with your food, we all know that.”

“I have no intention of eating you, Valentino.”

“Babe, believe me, I know. As much as I _wish you would._ ”

He doesn’t expect Valentino to be as good at it as he is. Their footsteps fall in exact, rhythmic time with the lilting hum of instruments from Alastor’s very being, led by Valentino’s apparently effortless instruction. Their spines are each just as rigid, their arms as poised, and surprisingly enough, the pimp does not even employ the use of his second set of arms. They’re locked firmly behind his back, folded over one another in an oddly formal fashion, like he’s _done this before_ and his familiarity is not simply _trial_ or _conjecture_. Where in the world would someone like _Valentino_ have learned _ballroom dancing?_

“Where did you learn?”

“I was a prince in life.”

“ _Were_ you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Your subjects must have adored you.”

“Oh, no, I set the whole damn place on fire.”

The waltz is graceful and elegant as it ever would be with the circumstances being what they are. Even Alastor cannot be faulted for the slight stumble-drag of a shoe against warped wood here and there, a challenge of the terrain that is unavoidable. The recovery is almost impossible to notice from an outsider’s perspective given that the mistakes themselves are so minute that only the two engaged in this traditional ritual of movement and rhythm are aware of it. The mistakes don’t matter to him, really: it’s the fact that this is happening _at all_. He had made a miscalculation. He knew he wasn’t above fault or flaw, but to be so swiftly and so boldly corrected was still a slap to his pride. Just a smidge.

“Even better.”

“Yeah, you’re a kinky freak like that. It’s a shame you don’t tango, sweetheart, we’d have plenty of fun.”

“I can tango.”

“You can dance. That ain’t the same thing.”

The music slows and drags its edges against the sides of walls to steady to a halt. Alastor emits the sound of gentle applause and tips his head when Valentino does not immediately let go. The song is over, so is the dance, and...that’s it, right?

“I suppose, if you need me to say it- you _win_ , Valentino.” He sighs, half-static beneath each syllable, a high pitched tuning noise twisting and dropping at the end as he looks faux-mournously to the right side of the room, as if his loss is such a great shame. “I admit defeat. You _can_ dance properly.”

“Ha. You keep underestimating me, Al. It’s gettin’ tired.” He’s...much closer to Alastor’s personal space, now, having not let go yet and trying to lean in further and further. Those second set of arms are no longer firmly locked behind his back, but now swaying dangerously at his sides. 

“Social expectations have never really _matched up_ for me, I’m afraid.” The Radio Demon says dismissively, eyes narrowing despite the giant, ever-present grin on his face.”I’ll probably be wrong about your personal life several times over, so, you have that to look forward to.”

“You’re tellin’ me that some crazy-powerful Radio Demon guy trapises into this layer of Hell and obliterates ancient powers-that-be, but he don’t know how to tell when guys gonna be good at fancy footwork?” He snorts. “I find that hard to believe, baby. No, I think you knew this was gonna happen all along.”

Alastor doesn’t appear to change in any way, but his head is suddenly spinning, and a low tonal sound snaps underneath the ambiance of the old room.

“I think you like touching me.” He takes Alastor’s clasped hand in his own and draws it close to his chest, face inches away now. “And you don’t know how to fuckin’ open your goddamn mouth and _ask_ , for all the talk you do. I’m not gonna fucking _bite_ , Al. You ain’t into that.”

The edges of the world are a little prickled and pointy, now, and pieces of the atmosphere are fading and reappearing again and again without Alastor’s express permission. Moody magic was always like that.

“Don’t hide from me, baby. C’mon. Not every touch’s gotta be _sexy._ ”

The abrupt shut-down of all of those emotional reactions is jarring even for Valentino, who blinks a few times but manages to move on quickly. Being entangled in a weird relationship with the Radio Demon does that to a man; desensitizes him to the most abrupt of shifts. Alastor finds himself slowly drawing his opposite hand up Valentino’s shoulder to cup his neck. He exhales rather hard, even he can hear it in the room, and the moth grins triumphantly.

“...If you just wanna choke me right now it’d be _so--_ ”

Alastor pushes him back so hard that there is a large hole in the wall, and before he leaves, he can hear the cackle-moaning of a man that likes to two-step all over every line he finds. 

Lucky for him, Alastor has cut a rug with the best, and he will be _damned_ if he allows a pretty face to distract him from the dance.


End file.
